Closets
by Rose Wilde Irish
Summary: Ford and Sheppard go exploring in the closet. Attempted humor.


[A/N: I swear, I was mulling over the other fic, but this one would. Not. Leave me. ALONE! So now it's out and SHUT UP ALREADY! Don't own, go ahead and sue, I have nothing, etc. This is supposed to be humor. Or what passes for it with me. I'm much better at angst. Let me know what you think.]

1.

Lieutenant Aidan Ford wasn't sure who was more surprised when he opened the door, himself, or Major John Sheppard.

"What are you doing in my closet?" a surprised Sheppard almost yelped.

"I don't think it was a closet when I opened the door," Ford replied, unable to ignore Sheppard's frantic attempt to—casually—hide something. He glanced at it, unable to help himself.

"I knew it!" Ford exclaimed as he grabbed it out of Sheppard's hand. "I knew that 'just got out of bed' rumpled hair had to be product!" Setting the hair gel down, he looked beside it. "And a beard trimmer! That stubble is so not casual!"

"Oh, shut up, you meterosexual.," muttered Sheppard, glowing red.

"Me a meterosexual.? This has gotta take tons more time than what I spend on myself in the morning."

"Yeah, yeah, but howinthehell did you get in here?" a puzzled Sheppard demanded.

Ford beckoned him through his still-open doorway and began explaining.

"...so it must be like the transporter-elevators we found, only it goes into closets, instead," Sheppard said, amused. Ford only nodded, still looking a little puzzled and surprised at his discovery.

For a moment, the two men sat and stared at each other. Then Sheppard started to get a gleam in his eye that Ford didn't like. He was beginning to realize that particular gleam meant trouble from his C.O.

"I wonder what everyone else has in their closet. Can you figure out how to determine where it's opening into?" Ford stared at him. He knew he was going to regret this.

2.

"So that's where my stuff went!" exclaimed Sheppard. "That little devil." He picked up a spare utility belt and grimaced, adding it to the small pile that included a cap, his night vision goggles, and assorted other odds and ends.

"Jinto's working on a fine case of hero-worship, isn't he?" Ford commented.

"You wouldn't find it so amusing if you were the one who was being followed 24/7."

"Shouldn't we change it to 28/whatever instead of 24/7?" Ford ducked to avoid the mock-blow Sheppard threw at him.

"C'mon, who's next?" Sheppard asked, but then the light in his eyes told Ford he'd just come up with the answer. Inwardly, he groaned.

3.

"Thank God above!" Dr. Beckett said when they released him from their next stop. "I was beginning to worry about the oxygen supply. Rodney keeps an inordinate amount of crap in his closet."

The two soldiers looked at each other, then at the Scottish doctor. Biting his lip, Ford shook his head slightly. 'Don't ask, don't tell' was the current mantra, but this answered so many questions. And raised so many more.

Sheppard didn't seem to contain an ounce of shame. "Excuse me, Doctor, but what are you doing in McKay's closet?"

Beckett studied him for a brief moment. Nodding, he said, "Yes, it would seem unlikely for me to be 'in the closet', as you Americans like to say, doesn't it? Well, I'm comfortable with who I am. Rodney, on the other hand...and so, you see, here I am."

It didn't answer many questions, but it did answer some that probably should've been left alone.

McKay, on the other hand, shrieked like a girl and raced to the end of a very, very large closet, hiding amongst the neatly organized items and freshly pressed clothes. Ford could tell from one look that Sheppard was all for simply turning tail and leaving, but Beckett stepped forward quickly.

"Rodney!" he called, placating. When he stepped in after the hiding scientist, the two soldiers exchanged a look, and quietly exited.

4.

"Major Sheppard!" Peter Grodin's voice was shocked. And a little scared.

"Grodin," Sheppard acknowledged, studiously not looking at the man's attire—or mostly lack thereof. There was an awkward pause.

"Did you come to see Teyla?" Once again, Grodin's accent bugged Sheppard. He assumed it was British, but every now and again it just didn't sound right to him. He mentally shrugged. One day he'd ask.

But right now, Grodin looked ready to throw up. "Would that be a problem...ah...sir?"

Sheppard stared at him, confused. The man stared back, nervous. With a thunderbolt, realization hit him. Grodin was worried that Sheppard would feel he was...poaching on his territory is how Grandpappy Sheppard would put it. He kept his smile internal out of respect for the man. Teyla would choose whom she wanted, and clearly had. Besides, he had other projects he was pursuing.

"No, not at a..." he trailed off as his thoughts returned full circle. The color drained from his face as realization hit. God, he was so dead.

Sheppard took off back the way he came. Throwing an apologetic shrug towards the thoroughly confused Grodin, Ford barely managed to squeeze in before Sheppard threw the door shut. Glaring at his C.O., he started to ask, "What the holy h—"

"Ah, Aidan, you can leave if you'd like," Sheppard said. "I think we've had enough fun for today." Ford could swear the man was sweating. He was definitely blushing as he trotted back to the way to his own closet. He stopped before the door and looked at Ford, following closely behind him. Ford looked from him to the door before him. With a slightly apologetic shrug, Ford reached for the irresistible door. He grinned at Sheppard as the door opened, enjoying the man's discomfort. The grin slowly slid from his face, to be replaced with a look of awe and appreciation.

Standing magnificently before him, clad in an outfit that would make Madonna blush, was Dr. Elizabeth Weir.

"Oh, Johnny, you've got a lot of 'splainin' to do," she said with quiet fury.

Ford first shoved Sheppard in the closet, then slammed the door shut, then ran like hell.

Fin.


End file.
